


You can't tell him, Sweetheart

by FoxyFanfic



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Cheating, Excessive Drinking, F/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:21:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28281591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxyFanfic/pseuds/FoxyFanfic
Summary: After the 74th hunger games Haymitch tells Katniss that she has to act in love with Peeta, and that Peeta can't know it's an act. Katniss cheats on Peeta with Haymitch, Like a lot. She comes to love Peeta, but she needs Haymitch. Smutty chapters will have *stars* in the names :)
Relationships: Haymitch Abernathy/Katniss Everdeen, Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Kudos: 21





	1. Stay with me?

**Author's Note:**

> Haymitch/Katniss, if you don't like the ship, don't read the fic
> 
> Leave a comment if you like, I'm just having fun with this but constructive criticism is welcome <3

Katniss POV 

We take the elevator to the level where we trained. It’s customary for the victor and his or her support team to rise from beneath the stage. First the prep team, followed by the escort, the stylist, the mentor, and finally the victor. Only this year, with two victors who share both an escort and a mentor, the whole thing has had to be rethought. I find myself in a poorly lit area under the stage. A brand-new metal plate has been installed to transport me upward. You can still see small piles of sawdust, smell fresh paint. Cinna and the prep team peel off to change into their own costumes and take their positions, leaving me alone. In the gloom, I see a makeshift wall about ten yards away and assume Peeta’s behind it. The rumbling of the crowd is loud, so I don’t notice Haymitch until he touches my shoulder. I spring away, startled, still half in the arena, I guess.

“Easy, just me. Let’s have a look at you,” Haymitch says. I hold out my arms and turn once. I feel his eyes linger on the padding over my chests, and wonder if I should thank him for refusing to let them surgically alter me “Good enough.”

It’s not much of a compliment. He’s never liked me. I don’t even know why he stood up for me against the game makers, and it’s clear from his mood that his opinion of me didn't improve watching me almost die in the arena. “But what?” I say.

Haymitch’s eyes shift around my musty holding space, and he seems to make a decision. “But nothing. How about a hug for luck?”

Okay, that’s an odd request from Haymitch but, after all, we are victors. Maybe a hug for luck is in order. Only, when I put my arms around his neck, I find myself trapped in his embrace. Strong arms hold me against a broad chest. He begins talking, very fast, very quietly in my ear, my hair concealing his lips as they brush softly against my ear. 

“Listen up. You’re in trouble. Word is the Capitol’s furious about you showing them up in the arena. The one thing they can’t stand is being laughed at and they’re the joke of Panem,”says Haymitch.

I feel dread coursing through me now, but I laugh as though Haymitch is saying something completely delightful because nothing is covering my mouth. “So, what?”

“Your only defense can be you were so madly in love you weren’t responsible for your actions.” Haymitch pulls back and adjusts my hairband. “Got it, sweetheart?” He could be talking about anything now. 

“Got it,” I say. “Did you tell Peeta this?”

“Don’t have to,” says Haymitch. “He’s already there.”

“But you think I’m not?” I say, taking the opportunity to straighten a bright red bow tie Cinna must have wrestled him into. With our faces this close I notice that there’s no smell of liquor, he must have been abstaining for weeks, even after we came out of the arena. Protecting me. 

“Since when does it matter what I think?” says Haymitch.“Better take our places.” He leads me to the metal circle. “This is your night, sweetheart. Enjoy it.” He kisses me on the forehead, gives my shoulders a reassuring squeeze, and disappears into the gloom.

I tug on my skirt, willing it to be longer, wanting it to cover the knocking in my knees. Then I realize it’s pointless. My whole body’s shaking like a leaf. Hopefully, it will be put down to excitement. After all, it’s my night.

Haymitch POV

I walk away from the terrified girl to ascend the stage and pretend to humbly accept the tumultuous applause I don’t deserve. Twenty-four years, forty-eight kids put in my hands, and only two saved, and they might still watch their families bleed out before their eyes. The audience is going wild for me, as they haven't since I “won” their game. 

When they finally relent I can retreat to the side of the stage to watch the lovebirds fly into each other's arms. I wince as the boy almost falls to the floor, but he saves it and they kiss. It’s convincing, you’d think she actually wants it, and when Ceaser tries to break them up Peeta brushes him away, making the crowd go wilder still. 

It’s going on too long now, and the girl’s innocence is part of what’s going to sell the thing. I tell myself that’s why I shove them towards the loveseat, but part of me feels a protective twinge, knowing the girl doesn’t want this, that I’m whoring her out as much as the Capitol did Finnick. Maybe it’s better this way, the boy will at least be kind to her, gentile. Still, when she sits next to him on the loveseat I raise an eyebrow. She understands, kicking of her shoes and curling up into his chest. Looking perfectly girlish and vulnerable. I wish I could protect her, but it’s up to her now, this is her night to convince them, all while watching three hours of torture. At least she’s not alone. As the games play I wish none of us had to see this, that I could hold her. No, that can’t be what I want. I need a drink. 

Katniss POV:

The sun is just peeking over the horizon when we get back to the twelfth floor of the Training Center. I think now I’ll finally get a word alone with Peeta, but Haymitch sends him off with Portia to get something fitted for the interview and personally escorts me to my door.

“Why can’t I talk to him?” I ask.  
“Plenty of time for talk when we get home,” says Haymitch. “Go to bed, you’re on air at two.”

Despite Haymitch’s running interference, I’m determined to see Peeta privately ask him what he thinks of this act. Apologize for putting him through this. After I toss and turn for a few hours, I slip into the hall. My first thought is to check the roof, but the only person up there is Haymitch, clutching a bottle of white liquor and standing right at the edge, I wonder if he would get hurt bouncing off the forcefield, and instinctively want him away from the edge.

“If you jump, you’ll just break the bottle.” I call out, and while his head tilts in recognition of my voice, he doesn’t move except to take a long swig from the bottle. So much for sobriety. 

It strikes me this is the first time I’ve been really alone with Haymitch since the four hours of training to make me charming for my interview before the games. Even the city streets far below are deserted after the celebration last night. The wind howls and I know this is the first chance we have to talk about Snow’s anger at me. I just wish he was sober enough.

I sit on the edge and let my legs dangle over, and Haymitch sits an arm’s length from me, and holds out the liquor, which I can smell on his breath from here. I shake my head, and ask the question that’s been on my mind since our last conversation. “What did you mean ‘he’s already there’?” I ask. 

I can feel his eyes boring into me, and look up to find him searching my face, Like I’m a puzzle he’s too drunk or too tired to bother figuring out. Grey seam eyes meet mine, and he leans in, even here, he won’t speak loud enough for a hidden microphone to pick up. I scoot towards him so he can whisper in my ear.

“The boy loves you sweetheart, it was never an act for him” and he chuckles drunkenly at my look of shock. “And,” he leans back in with a hiccup “the safest thing for your family will be to keep it that way. He can’t know you’ve been lying, it’ll break him and the act will fall apart.”

The dread bubbles up from my chest into my throat like tar. I know he’s right. I’ve been kidding myself, of course Peeta loves me, it’s so obvious to everyone but me. But it can’t happen, I never want marriage, or the type of relationship that can end with children, with facing the reaping again. I think about Haymitch, how even with all his money he never married. No family. All alone in that big house with no one the capitol can hurt but him. I envy him, the man beside me, drowning himself in drink. I grab the bottle from his hands, he doesn’t try to stop me until I’ve been drinking for 5 seconds straight, then he gently eases the bottle from my lips.

“Slow down sweetheart, if you fall you’ll just break the bottle.” I let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh. Leave it to Haymitch to turn my own words against me. “Look, once we get back to 12 I’ll tell him about the danger and make him think that’s why you’re not all over him, you feel guilty putting your family in danger for your boyfriend, and seeing him makes it worse. You’ll have some time to warm up to it before the tour. But you do need to make your peace. It will never end, your relationship is the capitol’s business now, every year you’ll be pulled out here and every detail of your life will be broadcasted to the nation. Don’t meet their standards, and your family dies. That’s how they work, that's why the rest of the victors put up with their abuse with smiles too.” He looks at me, and I see something in his eyes that must be pity. “I’m sorry, but if you’re not careful, you’ll end up worse off than me.”

Haymitch POV:

We sit on that ledge for two hours as I fill her in on the last 24 years, on how I was the example to hold up to the young new victors, on what they were forced to do. On why Finnick has so many lovers, even as his true love is a mad girl. On how Joanna didn’t listen and her family was killed. On how Lyme went from a proud career to one of the most anti-capitol victors. On which victors still want to stand against the capitol, and which ones have given up completely. Katniss is really kind of lucky, because she’s only going to be forced to be with a kind boy. She cries into my shoulder and tells me about her fears of having children. “I’m sorry sweetheart, I’m sorry” is all I can manage by the end, rocking her in my arms like a dying bird. I can’t help but think of Maysilee Donner. Bleeding out in my arms. I blink, and raise the bottle to my lips.

“I wish I was like you” she says inexplicitly.

I raise my eyebrows “well there's a first time for everything, but I never thought I'd hear that.” I chuckle, “so, what about this” I gesture down at my battle worn body, softened by the years of drinking “do you wish you had?” 

She shakes her head “They can’t hurt you anymore. Me? I have my mother, Prim, Gale, Peeta, even you! They have so much to take from me.” I look down at the damaged girl beside me, the one that lists me among the people the capitol could use to get to her. I don’t know what to say to make her feel better, and for some reason, that’s important to me. Not just so my little lovebird sings her song and keeps me alive, but because I don’t want her to be in pain. 

“They hurt me every year sweetheart. Forty-six dead kids Katniss. Now I’ve finally saved two of you, and the capitol owns you just as much as they own the rest of us.” This doesn’t cheer her up of course, but it’s the truth. She cant handle it, breaking into another fit of sobs, it’s all I can do to carry her back down to her room, place her in the bed, and kiss her forehead before walking away.

“Haymitch stop” she calls behind me, I turn to see the shattered girl sitting up, her grey eyes trained on me as she begs “Stay with me?” I swallow hard. I’m tempted to hold her in my arms again, which is what she clearly wants. But some tiny, sober part of my brain that sounds like Beetie tells me this would get someone killed, probably me. I settle for pulling a chair up beside her bed and drinking, while she falls asleep holding my hand. Just a mentor being here for his tribute I think. Perfectly innocent.


	2. You're the only one

Katniss POV: 

I watch from the window of the train as Haymitch and Peeta talk, and I know that Haymitch is telling the boy with the bread about how my love for him put us in danger, how all the victors are strictly controlled, about how I need some space for now but once I have some time with my family and see they're safe, as if such a thing ever existed in Panem I’ll go back to the crazy in love girl who offered him those berries. Peeta seems to take it well, nodding and clapping Haymitch on the shoulder. I wonder how gullible Peeta is to believe all of these lies, then I wonder how good of a liar Haymitch is. Better than me for sure, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s holding something back from me. No matter how much he tells me it’s because he’s my mentor watching over me, something in his eyes makes me think there's more. 

They start coming back to the train, and I head to my room. I’m supposed to be distraught and avoiding Peeta, which I suppose I am. I want someone though. I want to be in strong arms, safe. Like in the cave with Peeta, or the roof with Haymitch. I can’t ask Peeta to help me now, I need to make peace with my future with him first. But as I slip into my room, I ask one of the capitol attendants to tell Haymitch I’d like to talk to him. 

It’s 20 minus and the train is moving before he comes in, drinking and I quickly jump into his arms with a sob that's only half fake. “Hold me” I choke into his neck, “Please?”

He sighs, arms closing around me. ”It’s ok, it’s all going to be ok sweetheart” he says softly, easing me to the chair by the desk and kneeling before me. “Hold on, you’re just in shock, we’ll be home soon, you’ll see them again in a few hours.” I wonder who them is, my family? Gale? I can't even think of him right now. It can never happen. Peeta is the only man for me from now on, and I have to lie to him. In fact, the only man who I can seek comfort from, and be honest to, is kneeling in front of me, one hand holding mine, the other rubbing my shoulder comfortingly. 

I’m not sure what madness comes over me, maybe it’s the realization that he's the only one I can’t hurt, at least no more than he’s already been, but I lean in and kiss his stiff lips for a second before he yanks back and pushes me back “the hell was that sweetheart! Are you actually as crazy as you seem?” He shakes his head as he storms out, muttering something that sounds an awful lot like “deathwish.”

Haymitch POV:

Crazy girl, how messed up is she to actually want me? I check myself, she doesn’t want me, she wants to forget, and she doesn’t want to hurt the boy. He’s the one she cares about, I’m just a warm body that she’s not afraid of hurting. No one cares about hurting me, not even me I think, drinking some expensive garbage from district 1. Self pity isn’t exactly new for me, but it feels worse here, where I can still hear the sobs of the much more pitiable girl in the room next to mine. 

What was she thinking? The capitol will definitely have had her room bugged, and coming on to her mentor when loverboy is dealing with Effie won’t help her case, unless instead of crazy in love she's going for straight up crazy. Her cries die out as the hours pass, we pull into the station. Waves, cheers, star-crossed lovers, Katniss's mother saying she’s too young to have a boyfriend too right she is and Peeta steps away, but I feel too guilty to be happy for the girl. I stop by the hob on my way home. I predict that I’m going to need a lot of white liquor to get through this.

That prediction comes true within hours. I’m under a perfect canopy of green trees, and golden squirrels are gnawing off my hand, I hear Chaff’s voice “Haymitch? Wake up!” Next thing I know she's struggling under me, and I register that I’m holding a knife to Katniss Everdeen’s throat. 

Katniss's POV:

I can’t sleep. Even with Prim here, even though no one has been hurt, they’re all safe for now. But I want to feel safe myself. I want Haymitch. The lights are still on in his house so I knock, but when no one answers I let myself in. It’s impressive how much of a mess it is, bottles and stains are so prominent it’s hard to tell what’s new and what’s been here for years. “Haymitch?” I call, no response. This house is similar enough to mine I find the master bedroom with ease, he’s passed out fully dressed on the bed, bottle still in one hand, the other under his pillow. I lean down, gently placing a hand on his shoulder “Wake up!” 

He launches at me and for a second all I can think of is Clove pinning me down with the knife to my throat, those blue eyes bearing down on me with hunger and amusement. But the eyes looking into mine are the grey eyes of the seam. The look in them is unmistakably one of fear, confusion, and then shame as the fight drains out of him. The knife slips from his hand and I barely hear his words “Shit sweetheart, you can’t wake me up like that.” He sighs, taking stock of our position on the floor, is body pinning me down, my breathing quick and heavy. He tries to pull away and I clasp my hands behind his head.

“No, stay here” I whisper.

His eyebrows raise “Here? You really want to be on this floor?”

“I want to be with you” I whimper, “please don’t turn me away again.” and I kiss him, after a moment, he kisses back. It’s rough, he tastes like liquor and I can't help but be turned on by the scraping of his stubble against my face. It’s everything I’ve needed, and when he starts to pull himself off me I groan my dissent, but he’s picking me up with him. My legs wrap around him and I feel one of his hands on the small of my back, the other behind my head as he lays me down on the bed. 

I know he’s drunk, half passed out, and simply touch starved, but the urgency of his touch still satisfies something deep inside me, hands twice the size of mine touch me all over, like he needs this too. I caress his chest, surprised how slow and deep his breathing still is. “Katniss” he barely whispers “shouldn’t you be jumping your boyfriend?” 

The words sting. He knows how I feel about Peeta, I wouldn’t kill him, I even kind of like him, but I never chose him. Haymitch and Peeta were the masterminds for that romance, the Capitol demands it now. I want someone only I chose for myself, someone who didn’t look at me like a hurt puppy at the train station while my mother told me how much my “cousins” missed me. Someone whose heart has already been broken, who will understand why I can only ever marry Peeta. Someone who understands why I can’t sleep through the night. 

I decide not to dignify that question with an answer. Instead, I try to kiss him again, but he’s already standing up, shaking his head. “Look sweetheart,” he’s back to his old sardonic tone, “I’m not sure what you’re playing at but there’s no way this story ends well. Peeta may not be that ferocious but if he knew what just happened he might try to bludgeon be to death. That’s without even mentioning President Snow, who can still have your family killed if the thought tickles his fancy.” I can’t meet his eyes. He’s right, he always seems to be right, but I have just enough fight in me to say the next words.

“So I’m just supposed to accept being the capitol’s slave every second of every day for the rest of my life?” It seems I’ve said the right thing, I’ve at least made him take pause, considering my words carefully. 

“And what exactly is it you want from me?” Haymitch asks, and it’s a minute before I answer. Something about the tone of his voice tells me he’s considering giving me what I want, but I need to convince him first. 

I start to explain how trapped I feel in my future with Peeta. How I can’t ever have anyone else, they’d never understand my situation. Even Peeta will never understand, he can’t. “You’re the only person who really knows me, knows what I need to be distracted from. What I want, I guess, is for you to distract me.”

His voice is hoarse and sounds about a hundred miles away when he says: “Ok. But you can’t tell the boy sweetheart. He can never know.” And then we’re kissing again.


	3. *The first night back*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Smut warning*

Haymitch POV:

It’s definitely not the most emotionally healthy coping mechanism, but since when has that mattered to victors. It’s the only thing that can keep her even a little sane, help keep the act together. I keep telling myself that’s why I’m holding this beautiful young woman, one hand in her loose black hair, the other beside her, on the bed she sits on was I lean over, my lips locked in hers. But I know kisses won’t hold her over for long. She needs more than that, needs to be lulled to sleep in the kind of carnal pleasure that keeps the nightmares away, tricking your brain into thinking the world is a good place. 

My head is still fuzzy with drink that I didn’t quite manage to sleep off, but even in this state I know I can’t risk anything that could result in a pregnancy. Children out of wedlock don’t go over well in the capitol, and even if the “star crossed lovers” got engaged tomorrow, the capitol would see to it that the wedding wouldn’t happen for months, some big lavish affair. So I decide to practice a skill I haven't tried in years, but I was always excellent so no doubt crosses my mind that this will do the trick.

I start kissing her neck, my hands exploring her body, still so thin from the arena. When my hands come to her breasts I mentally thank myself for keeping the capitol from blowing them up like balloons, they’re perfect. She starts pulling her nightshirt off, and I help by relieving her of her pants, noticing she didn’t even bother to put on shoes before running over. I wonder what nightmare sent her out of bed and running to me without a second thought, it doesn’t matter, knowing won’t help me distract her. 

I pull her hips to the edge of the bed, descending to my knees before her to give my mouth easy access to her body, and for the first time in years, I let myself have fun.

Katniss POV: 

His hands are rough with me, just a slight sense of clumsiness brought on by the liquor I can still taste in my mouth even as his lips starts exploring my body. The rough stubble brushing over my skin before the soft lips and the warm, smooth, ingenious tongue that seems to know exactly where to go to make me fall apart. I shudder particularly as he slides across my collarbone, and the look of satisfaction on his face at my reaction tells me this is just as good for him as it is for me. He spends just enough time on my breasts to make me wonder if he has any regrets about protecting them from the tough of the capitol. “Thanks, by the way” I say gesturing towards my chest “for protecting me.”

He smirks “wouldn’t want anyone getting their hands on these” he says giving my breasts a squeeze except Peeta I think, but before I can feel more than a brief twinge of guilt, the bite to my inner thigh brings me back to the moment. He starts teasing me, I keep thinking he’s about to give me what I want when he pulls away, kissing and biting at my body. Finally, I gasp as he puts my legs over his shoulders and tugs me forward so that my torso falls back on the bed as his tongue starts exploring somewhere no one has ever touched before except me, but never like this. 

Growing up in the seam, with my only close friend being a boy, I never learned how to bring myself pleasure. I tried a few times, but living in that small house with my mother and sister meant that I couldn’t exactly moan there if it felt good, so I would only try when I was out in the woods, for hours on Sundays, when losing a few minutes up in a tree was inadvisable, but irresistible. I could never really let go though, afraid that gale would find me and laugh. And I was nowhere near as masterful as Haymitch is now. 

I find myself slipping away into a haze of pleasure and let my moans rise in volume until I’m singing Haymitch’s graces into the night. I don’t know how long I spend in this in between world where all that exists is me and Haymitch, but that crescendo of pleasure rises in me at least twice before he releases me and I fall into a dreamless sleep. 

Haymitch POV: 

As the girl slips into sleep, naked in my bed, I feel the sudden urge to bathe. I haven’t showered since they made me camera ready for the Victor ceremony several days ago, but I feel dirtier than I would from another few weeks of binge drinking. The hot water scalds my skin but I’m too distracted by my own stupidity to care. This is going to hurt her, in the end I think, and I know I was right to say this story has no happy ending. 

Satisfies that I have the smell of Katniss off of me, I creep through the room silently and down the stairs. I let her sleep until that grey light that proceeds dawn glows in the east, and set down my freshly opened, almost empty bottle. Stumbling a little on the stairs, I must wake her because she’s rubbing her eyes when I enter the room. She blushes at the sight of me, realizing where she’s woken up. “Time to go home sweetheart, before your mother looks for you in the wrong bedroom.” Maybe the comment was too harsh, because her face is bright red and upset as she hastily pulls on her clothes, I see her look around the floor for shoes and add “you can borrow some slippers if you want.” and fetch them from the closet. They’re too big for her, but they’re the best I can do.

I don’t make any effort to walk her out, but before she leaves she surprises me with an embrace “Thank you Haymitch” is all she says before leaving. I cross to the window and watch her walk across the street to the house directly opposite from the boy who’s been all I’ve been able to think of for hours. The boy who’s one true love is going home to shower off my smell.


	4. Chapter 4

Haymitch POV:

The next week passes in a drunken haze, with two more visits from my girl on fire. The first is at night, and passes much the same as her first trip, except she remembers to wear shoes, and there’s almost no talking. The second is in the evening on Sunday, and it’s the first time I’m conscious when she walks through the door without knocking, I wonder if she ever bothered to, or just always assumed I would be passed out. Hard to blame her for that, I make an effort to avoid consciousness. 

She looks more like that girl I would see at the hob before the games. I never talked to her of course, I avoid anyone who might be reaped, try not to get attached. But I would still see her and the handsome “cousin” trading their game when I went down to refill my stocks of liquor. With her simple braid and the smell of pine needles still clinging to her, I know she’s been hunting, but her foul mood and empty game bag tell me something went wrong. 

“What, all the turkeys look like kids now?” I ask, pouring some whiskey into an empty glass and handing it over.

“No, I got a wild turkey and three squirrels no problem” She responds, still with a sour look on her face.

“So what is it sweetheart?” It’s a minute before she responds, as she finishes her glass and holds it up to me, not speaking until I’ve topped her off.

“Gale kissed me.” she spits out, sounding both frustrated and ashamed. Well, who couldn’t see that one coming? He obviously cares about her, even if he is stubborn as a mule. I remember the phone call where I convinced him to go along with the cousin gambit, the only argument that had any impact on him is that it might save her life. He obviously hoped she would come back alone though, her play with the berries must have been as upsetting for him as it was for the gamemakers. But first order of business isn’t the emotional ramifications of her stupid little love triangle, it’s damage control.

“Did anyone see?” I ask seriously. 

“I don’t think so, I mean we were close to the fence, and I didn’t kiss back or anything,” there's a pleading note to her voice now “Could this really be used against me?” The honest answer is yes, I don’t know if there are any cameras in that part of district 12, but if anyone saw and was offered a bribe to give up information, most people are desperate enough to take it. But she’s already upset, and she can’t always handle the truth, so I do my best to sugarcoat it.

“Doubtful, if the capitol finds out there could be ramifications, but there's nothing you can do about that now except to prevent it from happening again. You need to make it clear to everyone that you chose Peeta, and the sooner the better.” Tears well in her eyes, and I reflect that I’ve never been very good at sugar. “Look, you don’t need to do anything too drastic, just go meet his parents, bee seen in the bakery. Introduce him to people in the hob, your mother’s boundaries will help cover up a bit, but just spend some time with him in public spaces, and people will fill in the rest.” Either this or the whiskey has made her feel better, because she’s got herself under control now, and is nodding. 

“I think I can do that, I’ll go tell him now, that I want him to come to the hob with me.” she says, swaying slightly as she stands.

“Not like that you aren’t!” I bark, startling her “Go home, sleep it off, you can tell him tomorrow.” She nods, and tipsily leaves me alone with my bottle. 

Katniss POV: 

The next morning, I’m saved the trouble of tracking down Peeta by the smell of fresh bread wafting through the house a little after dawn. I descend the stairs to find him about to leave, my mother walking him to the door and thanking him for the bread he’s left on the kitchen table. “Peeta, wait!” I call with a smile, and rush over to give him a hug. He’s happy to see me, if not a bit concerned, and quickly accepts my offer to eat breakfast with my family. Off to a good start I think. 

He’s wonderful, of course, charming my mother and Prim quite easily. I realize that this isn’t going to be as difficult as I had thought, he's so good with words, so sincere, that even my own family is convinced, and pleased with our relationship. He tells us that he’s helping out at the bakery while the painting supplies come in for his talent, and I reflect on how pathetic it is that I still can’t think of anything I’m good at, apart from killing. 

I offer to walk into town with him, and on the way in, we have our first private conversation since the night before the games, when he told me he didn’t want the capitol to change him. I think about Haymitch, and how much the capitol has already changed me. I have to block out the thought of rough hands on my waist as Peeta says “I’m sorry about.. well, everything. If I knew it would put anyone in danger, I would have just bled out in the arena.”

“Don’t say that.” I don’t know what else to say, part of me wishes I died in the arena as well, so I can’t blame him. He must really be in love with me, to put my family before his own life. Or maybe he’s just a much better person than me. 

Not maybe, he is certainly better than me.

“I’m glad you’re alive, I just needed some time to process, I thought if we survived the arena we’d be safe, but it feels like the games never ended.” I say, hoping this can cover for the past week of radio silence.

“You have nothing to apologize for Katniss,” he says, squeezing my hand, just like he did at the reaping. “I’ve been overwhelmed too, only five weeks ago I was just the baker’s son, I still can’t believe everything that’s happened.”

Spending the day with Peeta is easier than I expected, although I can never really shake the feeling of being watched. It may just be the fact that I hope people are watching, and report back to the capitol that Peeta and I are inseparable, maybe it’s my fear that someone will tell gale and I’ll never get my hunting partner back. 

By the time he’s giving me a gentille kiss goodnight and walking across the street to his empty house, I’m craving more than just kisses, I pretend to be asleep until Prim and my mother have settled down for the night, then I sneak across the street, I almost walk into Haymitch's house before I hear voices inside. I can’t help myself but eavesdrop, too curious what Peeta and Haymitch have to discuss to worry about being caught.


End file.
